


Of Draco Malfoy and Confessions

by Nherizu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Humor, M/M, Mention of past!Charlie/Harry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Harry, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nherizu/pseuds/Nherizu
Summary: When Harry follows Malfoy back to the dorm, he certainly doesn’t expect what comes after.





	Of Draco Malfoy and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, past Charlie/Harry  
> Warnings: Um, it’s 3,200 words of smut. And dubcon.  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This fic was originally written in 2015. After a year, I finished it for Panda's birthday. However, I still spent one more year revising (and then forgetting) this fic, lol. Thank you so much to Gracerene, Josephine Stone, and Finitefarfalla for helping me to make this story better.

**Of Draco Malfoy and Confessions**

 

Harry can’t believe his eyes. Malfoy, who has stripped off his clothes, is standing next to the door and leaning his back on the wall. Slowly, his fingers disappear behind him. Harry gulps, watching the way Malfoy’s cheeks flush and his eyelids flutter. Harry can’t see it, but he has a pretty good idea of what those fingers are doing. Malfoy’s thighs clench, a low moan escapes his lips. Harry’s mind rotates around Malfoy’s cock, long and flushed, and that’s just so, so not on.

Harry shuts his eyes in hopes that it is all only a hallucination. When he opens them again, though, he doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to feel lucky or horrified. Malfoy is still standing there, but he is presenting his back to Harry now, his left hand bracing against the wall, and his other ….

Harry swallows.

“Potter,” Malfoy says, his voice is breathy and doing the unspeakable things to Harry’s groin. Harry just watches, mesmerised as Malfoy’s fore and middle fingers slide in and out of his arsehole. “Potter.” Malfoy’s voice is close to a whine. Harry lifts his eyes up to Malfoy’s face to find him staring over his shoulder with hunger. His lips part, and the flush on his cheeks has crept down his neck, looking illegally delicious on his pale complexion.

“I ….” Harry shakes himself, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as husky in Malfoy’s ears as it does in his. “I don’t understand.”

And honestly, he really doesn’t. Yes, somehow—Harry doesn’t know exactly how it started—they have been civil to each other this year, much to McGonagall’s delight. Sharing the common room for the repeating seventh years doesn’t feel so bad anymore, if only because they've stopped throwing insults and fists at every opportunity. But Malfoy had been so aloof lately, and Harry was content to leave him alone. He did have his own break up to mope about after all. Harry’s relationship with Charlie was a short one, but it still hurt to know Charlie didn’t like Harry as much as Harry liked him. So, Malfoy was kind of off Harry’s radar … until after supper tonight.

Harry was scowling at his treacle tart because it tasted wrong, his pumpkin juice smelled wrong, and his friends’ chatter sounded wrong, when Malfoy walked to the Gryffindor table. That earned a few confused looks from their year mates, but Harry was too busy gaping to care. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the Gryffindor table, let alone ask Harry to go with him. Ron was suspicious, of course, but curiosity ate Harry up. Harry followed Malfoy past their common room and into Malfoy's room. He stopped short once he saw Malfoy discarding his robes. Now, it's as if hundreds of invisible threads are tying Harry’s feet to the floor. He sits on Malfoy’s bed with weak knees.

“Potter,” Malfoy says again, cutting their distance with slow, deliberate steps. His cock’s pink and hard against his belly, a bead of pre-come on its tip. As he moves, Harry can’t help noticing how Malfoy’s fingers are glistening from the lube, and thinking about what those fingers have just done makes Harry whimper. “Potter, fuck me.”

Harry groans, his cock stirring in his trousers. “Malfoy, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong? There’s nothing wrong with me,” says Malfoy, and his fingers—the glistening fingers!—are reaching for Harry. Harry’s breath catches.

“Did you eat or drink something strange? Maybe it’s a love potion?” Harry tries to reason, but with the way his voice quivers, he doesn’t think he would convince anyone. Then Malfoy’s fingers touch his cheek—hot and slick and just right. Harry shudders, closing his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Malfoy says. “You never realised it, did you? I’ve been aching for you and dreaming about you, but all you do is weep over Weasley.”

“I don’t weep,” Harry says weakly.

“I figure if I don’t fuck you out of my system, I won’t be able to move on,” Malfoy says and bends down as if Harry never spoke. “So, Potter. Fuck me,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, his fingers gently threading into Harry’s hair. “Help me get over you.”

Harry forces himself to swallow, wondering where the bloody hell his brain and sanity are when he needs them. “I … I never ….”

“You never?”

Malfoy’s fingers massage Harry’s scalp in the most erotic way Harry has ever experienced. His breath hot against Harry’s jaw.

“I’ve never … with Charlie.”

Malfoy pauses and leans back. “You two never had sex?”

Harry shakes his head, heat sneaking up his cheeks. He wants a hole to engulf him now. “I never fucked him. That is.”

Understanding runs over Malfoy’s face. “Aah. You prefer to be fucked, is that it?”

“Yes. No. Argh.” Harry hides his face in his palms, groaning. “It’s just. I've just never fucked anyone.”

“You’re scared.” The way Malfoy says it, it is as if he’s amused. He probably is. Harry raises his head to glare at him.

“Yeah, so you can just sod off, because I won’t be able to satisfy you, and Merlin, I’m pretty sure the problem is not about my cock being a virgin, it’s about you being weird!” Harry stops, considering. “Are you sure you really didn’t drink a love potion?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you listened to me, Potter? I said I want to get over you. It doesn’t matter whether you can satisfy me or not.” Tilting his head, he appears to be thinking for a moment. “In fact, it’ll be better if you can’t. By then I’ll know that I shouldn’t waste my time on someone so bad in bed.”

Harry is too stunned by that logic to be properly angry. “Why do you want to get over me?” he asks. “I’m available, and it’ll make more sense if you try to, you know, seduce me.”

“I _am_ seducing you.”

“No, you twit. I mean, seduce me to _be_ with me, not to get over me.”

Malfoy sighs, and he pushes Harry so suddenly that Harry lies back on the bed. “Enough talking, start fucking.” Harry is about to protest, but Malfoy’s knee presses down on his groin, and the only thing Harry is able to say is a stupid ‘Guh’.

Harry scrambles up so his elbows can support him, and Malfoy takes the liberty to straddle Harry’s hips. “Fuck, Malfoy!”

“We’ll get to it soon,” says Malfoy, licking his lips. He grinds his arse against Harry’s cock. Harry cries out. “But first, let’s get you out of this obnoxious robe.”

“Gryffindor robes aren’t obnoxious,” says Harry, but it sounds pathetic even to him. Malfoy rewards him with another grinding, and another, and another. Harry is too busy moaning to notice Malfoy has yanked his robe over his head, and now Malfoy’s fingers are working on the buttons of Harry’s shirt.

When Malfoy is pulling at the seam of Harry’s trousers, Harry grabs his hands. “Stop.”

“Don’t want to,” Malfoy sings.

“No, I’m serious, I’ve never ….”

“Fucked anyone before. Yeah, we’ve established that.”

“But it’s not that simple!” Harry tries to convey his every emotion about fucking someone in his voice, but clearly it's in vain as Malfoy only wiggles his arse on Harry’s groin. “Merlin! Malfoy, I can’t, I don’t think I can be like Charlie—”

“Who the fuck wants you to be like Weasley?” growls Malfoy that Harry stops protesting. “How many times do I have to say that I want you, not a fucking weasel or a chipmunk or a skunk?”

“You forgot to mention a ferret,” says Harry, and this time he doesn’t protest when Malfoy impatiently Vanishes his trousers and briefs. Malfoy is still scowling, that is until he takes in the sight of Harry’s cock. Harry opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Malfoy grabs his cock and starts pumping. All coherent thoughts are quickly thrown out of the window.

Clutching the sheets, Harry moans. He arches his back, sensing his balls tighten as Malfoy speeds up. Yet Malfoy, the bastard, stops pumping the moment Harry is about to come. “Malfoy!” he whines.

“No, Potter, you’re going to fuck me.” Malfoy grins, his eyes half-lidded. “Deep and slow.”

Harry groans.

Malfoy conjures more lube on his fingers, and Harry has to admit he is impressed by Malfoy’s continuous show of wandless and nonverbal magic. Harry can hardly cast _Accio_ without a wand nowadays—bloody Voldemort has taken most of his power to his grave. Not that Harry minds. Malfoy’s hand clasps around Harry’s cock again, now slick and cold. Harry sucks a deep breath.

“I don’t mind doing it the other way,” Malfoy says, “but if I can’t be your last, I want to be your first.”

Harry wants to say that it’s Malfoy himself who decides he can’t be Harry’s last, yet he moans instead. He bucks up, sensing the hotness of Malfoy’s tight arse enveloping the head of his cock inch by inch.

“Don’t move!” Malfoy orders, clenching Harry’s shoulder with one hand while the other guides Harry’s cock until it is fully sheathed. Harry bites the inside of his lower lip, trying hard not to thrust up his hips, knowing it could hurt. But dear God, Merlin, Jesus _Christ_. It’s just too much. Malfoy’s hole is clenching and unclenching around his cock. It’s soft and tight, and everything that’s incredible, and he swears he could come right now and—

Fuck. He really comes.

“Shit,” he says, wishing Voldemort were back to Avada Kedavra him. Maybe, this time, it will work. Or at least wipe out this horrid memory. “Shit.”

“You came,” Malfoy says, his brow furrows. Harry ducks his head to avoid seeing the sneer that’s guaranteed to grace Malfoy’s features.

“Potter, hey, Potter,” Malfoy says, holding Harry’s face. “Look at me.”

“I ... get off me, Malfoy,” Harry says, trying to swat Malfoy’s hands away.

“No, Potty, it’s not that easy to get rid of me,” Malfoy says and circles his hips, causing Harry to gasp aloud. His sensitive cock twitches inside Malfoy.

“What—what are you—”

“Having sex with you.” Malfoy licks his lips, continuing his movement. Now that Harry is looking at him again, Malfoy starts to trace Harry’s collarbone with his fingers. He maps Harry’s torso with his hands and eyes, as though Harry is the most precious thing in the world. Harry doesn’t want to dwell on that thought for too long, however. It’s still so weird that Harry hardly believes it’s happening. He grits his teeth, holding back a moan as Malfoy flicks his nipple. Malfoy smiles. “Like that, do you?”

“God, Malfoy, you’re so weird,” Harry whines. He squirms, trying to avoid Malfoy’s thumbs fiddling with his nipples, while desperate for more touches at the same time. It goes on forever, and Harry feels like he'll die from all the stimulation alone. His cock stirs again, and it hurts because it’s still oversensitive, but it’s also beyond amazing. Harry tries not to sob with pleasure.

“Mmm,” says Malfoy, his eyes dark with arousal. His face flushes, teeth digging into the soft pink of his lower lip. Harry can’t stop watching him, can’t stop savouring every touch his hands make, every roll his hips perform. “You’re hard again.”

“Fuck, yes.”

“You’re ready to fuck me.”

“I ….” Harry hesitates.

“You are,” Malfoy enunciates his words by raising his hips and slamming back down.

“Oh, fuck, _yesss_ ,” Harry hisses, clenching his eyes shut from the intense pleasure. Malfoy continues to ride Harry, his movements urgent. Harry’s shoulders hurt as Malfoy’s fingers dug into them.

“So good,” Malfoy moans. Harry opens his eyes to catch Malfoy staring back at him. “Potter, your cock—” He changes his angle and gasps, “—feels good. Potter, fuck me ....”

Harry curls his fingers around Malfoy’s waist and complies, thrusting his hips upward to meet Malfoy’s frantic movement. Malfoy whimpers, his head thrown back and his back arched. Sweat rolls down his skin, gleaming under the torches' light. His fringe falls across his forehead, damp and golden and, fuck—Malfoy is beyond sexy. Harry growls, sensing his resistance snap.

He flips Malfoy over onto the bed, biting Malfoy’s neck to taste the salty skin. Malfoy quickly adapts to the new position, hooking his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry thrusts harder, the bed creaks as though it will collapse any minute, but Harry is too far gone to care. He traces Malfoy’s chin and cheek with his tongue and wants to claim the lips when Malfoy looks away.

Harry would have never realised how badly he wanted to kiss those lips, if not for Malfoy refusing him. But he dips his head, refusing to think about that and sucking the spot just behind Malfoy’s ear instead. Malfoy groans, “Potter, Potter, faster … oh, _fuck_!”

Harry somehow manages to bury himself into Malfoy deeper and his hand reaches for Malfoy’s cock. The muscles in his thighs are burning thanks to his frenzied pace, but it is all worth it when Malfoy clenches around him and cries out. Splashes of come spurt out of Malfoy’s cock, and Harry quickly pumps it until the last drop. Malfoy writhes and begs, his heels digging into the small of Harry’s back.

Malfoy’s moans are the most erotic thing Harry has ever heard. “Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry says and shudders, pursuing his second release. And as Malfoy begins to calm down, the expression on his face makes Harry suck in a deep breath, make a final thrust, and come.

For a while, only the sounds of their heavy breathing are present. Every part of Harry aches deliciously until the peculiarity of the situation hits him. He just fucked Draco Malfoy and _loved_ it. How the bloody hell could he do that? Harry opens his mouth and closes it again, unsure about what to say. ‘Thanks for the amazing shag, Malfoy’ doesn’t seem right. Neither does ‘Have you got over me now?’. And ‘I think I want to shag you again’ will come out stupid. Harry struggles with his thoughts until Malfoy shoves him.

“Thanks for the shag, Potter.” 

Harry purses his lips because, apparently, Malfoy thinks it is fine to use that line. Minus the ‘amazing part’, of course. 

“Now I can move on, and you can continue your wondrous life as a hero. Everyone’s happy,” says Malfoy, waving his hand to perform a cleansing spell. Trust the prat to only clean himself.

“I still don’t understand why you feel the need to get over me,” Harry says.

“Ah, I think it’s more surprising that there are things you understand at all.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t be a git. I think I deserve to know.”

Malfoy ignores him, getting up from the bed to collect his clothes. He dresses in silence while Harry strives not to scowl. In the end, when it is clear that Malfoy won’t say anything more, Harry sighs. He crawls off the bed, picking up his wand from the floor to clean himself. He pauses for a moment before he finally surrenders to the temptation to scowl and say accusingly, “Where are my trainers? You Vanished them, too!” He doesn’t want to think why he didn’t realise the disappearance of his trainers and socks sooner.

“They were in such a pathetic condition I could weep, Potter. Consider this a chance to buy a new pair,” says Malfoy with a dismissive wave.

“They were still mine,” says Harry, even though his cheeks heat up. “And the trousers, too. And the—”

“Then Conjure them back,” Malfoy says, “or just wear your robes. No one will notice unless you get hard again,” he adds with a slight smirk.

“You’re a prat, you know that?” says Harry, sensing all the fight break away from him. Right now he’s just tired, mostly. And resigned. With a sigh, he dons his shirt and robe, taking his scattered tie from the floor. Finally, he walks to the door and pauses when his hand reaches the handle. He looks over his shoulder, catching Malfoy staring at him with a smile—a soft smile that Harry swears will never disappear from his mind.

“Night, Potter,” he says.

Harry’s supposed to go now, he knows. Malfoy wants him to leave so he can celebrate the fact that he has confused Harry. Maybe. But the way Malfoy looked at him earlier when Harry fucked him—it was as though he would never see Harry again. Perhaps Harry is mad to be thinking this way. Malfoy not wanting to see Harry is a normal occurrence. But the thing is, Malfoy seemed like he _didn’t_ want that to happen, and that is what stops Harry from leaving.

“Potter?”

“What if ….”

Malfoy tilts his head, his smile gone.

“What if I said I don’t want you to get over me?”

Malfoy’s eyes widen for a second, but then he covers it and scoffs. “Well, I know that it’s hard for you to lose one admirer, but—”

“I’m saying perhaps we can be—can be _more_.”

That makes Malfoy falter. “… Potter.”

“I don’t know what your reason is—”

“Potter, you’re— ”

“—but you can’t expect me to forget about what we did!”

Malfoy shakes his head. “You’re a hero.”

“And you’re a loser?” Harry asks, deliberately making Malfoy flinch and look away. Harry rubs his face and sighs. “Sorry, but. I just don’t understand. I mean, you’ve just opened a new possibility about, you know, _us._ But then you want me to dismiss it like it’s nothing.”

“Then think of it as a mistake,” Malfoy says.

Harry snorts. “Do you really want me to think that way?”

“Of course. Who do you think you are?”

“I will never,” Harry says, “think it was a mistake.”

Malfoy closes his mouth, his brow furrows.

“And in fact, I would be very glad if.” Harry coughs, his cheeks feel hot. “We could have dinner together or something.”

Malfoy stares at him for a long time, and then he smirks. “Was it that good? Sex with me?”

“No! I mean, yeah, it was, but I didn’t mean—”

“This is Hogwarts, and I don’t want to have dinner at the Gryffindor table if that’s your idea of a date.”

“No! No, um. I don’t want to go to the Slytherin table, either, but. Maybe … on a Hogsmeade weekend ….”

Malfoy laughs. “Have you ever asked someone out for a date?”

Harry flushes. “Sure I have!”

“ _Really_.”

“Okay, forget it, you prat,” Harry says, indignant and, mostly, embarrassed. He turns back toward the door and intends to rush back to his room and maybe wallow in self-pity when he hears Malfoy call out to him. “What?” Harry asks, harsher than he wants to.

“I’ll think about your offer,” says Malfoy.

Harry takes a moment to process what Malfoy means and has to control himself from grinning like an idiot. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and, with a smile he knows he can’t hold back, says, “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

He doesn’t wait for Malfoy’s answer and lets the door close behind his back with a feeling he hadn’t had since the day he realised he wanted Charlie. And this time, he— _kind of_ —wants Malfoy. Probably really, _really_ wants Malfoy. That’s just how fucked up his life is.

And yet, Harry doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

 

**_~Fin~_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
